THIEVES IN THE NIGHT.
The other occupants of the auto were a man with a heavy red beard and a
nervous, alert little man whom Billy said was an aviator named Slade.
“That’s queer to see Reade over here. I wonder what he can be doing,”
said Billy, as the two autos left the shed and emerged into the street.
Neither of the boys could, of course, hazard a guess, but had they known
it the mission of the reporter who had betrayed the _Planet_ was more
nearly concerned with them than they imagined. The car in which Reade
was seated seemed a more powerful machine than the one the boys occupied
and it soon left them behind. They thought no more of the chance
encounter and soon arrived at the home of Eben Joyce, a comfortable
cottage on the heights overlooking the “meadows” on one side and the
North river on the other.
They were greeted by the inventor’s daughter, who seemed much disturbed.
“Oh, I am so glad you have come!” she exclaimed, after she had invited
the little party in.
“Why, what has happened?” asked Frank.
“I will tell you,” she said, while they all leaned forward deeply
interested. “This afternoon I was called to the door by a man in ragged
clothes who begged me for something to eat. My father has told me never
to let anyone go away hungry, so I told the servant to give the man some
food. I thought no more of the matter till, on looking out of the
window, I saw the man who had asked for charity going toward the old
barn out there that my father used as a workshop.”
Old Mr. Joyce became greatly excited. It was evident he feared some harm
had come to his collection of scientific instruments and plans for
inventions which he housed there for lack of room in the house.
“Yes, yes, go on,” he exclaimed, quivering with agitation.
“He was fumbling with the lock when I looked up and saw him. I shouted
to him to know what he was doing. His reply was to instantly stop what
he was at and run toward the front of the house. I opened the door just
in time to see him leap into an automobile in which were two other men,
and they drove off.”
“A tramp in an automobile; that’s funny,” commented Frank.
“Indeed it is. In fact, I recollect thinking at the time that he asked
me for food that his manner was too refined to be that of a genuine
tramp.”
“What did he look like?” asked Harry.
“He was tall and had a big red beard. That is all I am able to recollect
of him.”
“Sounds like the man we saw in Reade’s auto,” exclaimed Harry.
“Can Fred Reade have anything to do with this mysterious happening?”
asked Billy.
“Eh, say that name again, young man,” demanded the inventor, who was,
besides being often preoccupied, somewhat deaf and so had not heard
Billy mention the other’s name when they were in the auto.
“I said Fred Reade,” rejoined Billy. “Why, do you know him?”
“I do, and I know no good of him,” was the reply. “It was he that first
approached me in connection with the sale of the _Buzzard_ to Luther
Barr and——”
“Luther Barr again. We seem to cross his trail all the time,” exclaimed
Frank.
“Eh?” questioned the old man, his hand at his ear, trumpet-wise.
“I said we have heard of Luther Barr before, as you know,” said Frank,
“but you never mentioned the fact that Reade had acted for him.”
“It must have slipped my mind in the excitement,” explained the old man.
“Yes, Fred Reade has acted for Barr in many matters that I know of.”
“A sort of agent of his,” said Billy.
“More than that,” rejoined old Eben Joyce; “there is some mysterious tie
between them. I think Reade knows something about Luther Barr that the
other is afraid will come out.”
“How is that?” asked Frank.
“I don’t know, but such is my impression. At the time of the negotiation
for the _Buzzard_ Reade treated Barr as an equal more than if he were
employed by him.”
It had grown dusk by this time and Eben Joyce’s daughter lit the lamp
and set it down on the cottage table. As she did so there came a loud
roar of an approaching motor car down the quiet street and the next
moment through the gathering gloom a big auto approached the cottage. As
it neared it it slowed down. They all went out on the porch to see who
could be driving a car down that little frequented street. It was not
very light, but as the car drew nearer Frank recognized it.
“That’s Fred Reade’s auto,” he cried.
But if the boys imagined that they were to get any solution of the car’s
mysterious appearance they were mistaken. As it neared the house, and
the group on the porch must have been plainly visible to its occupants,
the big car suddenly leaped forward and shot away into the darkness.
“What did they do that for?” asked Billy.
“I guess they saw so many if us here that they thought it would be more
prudent to stay away,” suggested Frank.
“What can they be after?” wondered Harry.
“The blue prints of my gyroscopic attachment and possibly my
experimental machine itself,” declared the inventor, “though if they had
the blue prints they could easily manufacture them themselves. Reade has
been after me to sell them.”
“That is so,” mused Frank; “undoubtedly such prints would be of great
value to them.”
“Will you do something for me?” inquired old Eben Joyce, suddenly.
“Of course,” rejoined Frank; “what is it?”
“Will you take charge of my blue prints for me. It is lonely here and I
am old and my daughter unprotected. In case they attacked us in the
night we should have little opportunity to keep the prints from them. I
would feel quite secure if you had them in your possession, however.”
Frank readily agreed to this, adding that he would place them in a safe
deposit vault.
“I shall rest much easier if you would,” said the old inventor. “Bad as
they are, I don’t think the men would hurt us; all they are after is the
plans and I really dare not have them about here another night.”
It was an hour later when, with the plans safely tucked away in an
inside pocket of Frank’s coat, the boys started back for town.
“If you feel at all nervous we will telephone home and stay here with
you,” Frank offered before they left.
“Oh, not at all,” exclaimed old Joyce, who was already busy figuring a
new problem. “I have a revolver and I will communicate with the police
about my fears. I shall be all right.”
With hearty good nights the boys’ car swung off, its headlights glowing
brightly. They sped along through the outskirts of Jersey City and were
about to leave the lonely, badly-lighted section through which they had
been passing when suddenly a figure stepped full into the path of light
cast ahead of them.
The sudden apparition of the night was waving a red lantern.
“Stop! there’s danger ahead!” it shouted.
“Danger, what sort of danger?” asked Frank, nevertheless bringing the
car to a stop.
“Why, there’s an excavation ahead. Ah! that’s right, you’ve stopped. Now
then, young gentlemen, just step out of the petroleum phaeton and fork
over the contents of your pockets.”
“What, you rascal, are you holding us up?” cried Billy indignantly, as
the man pointed a revolver at them.
“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” grinned the other. “Come on now, shell out
and hurry up.”
As he spoke three other figures glided from the shadows of an untenanted
house near by and silently took up their positions a short distance
beyond him. They were out of the path of the auto’s lights and their
faces could not be seen. The light glinted on something that each held
in his hand, however, and which were clearly enough revolvers. Things
looked pretty blue for the Boy Aviators.
The sudden turn events had taken almost bereft Frank of his wits for a
minute, but suddenly it flashed across him that the man who had waved
the lantern did not talk like an ordinary robber and that it was
remarkable that the others took so much trouble to keep out of the
light. The next instant his suspicions were confirmed by hearing the
voice of the first comer snap out:
“Which one of you has got them gyroscope plans?”
Frank’s reply was startling. Without uttering a word he suddenly drove
the machine full speed ahead.
It leaped forward like a frightened wild thing.
As it dashed ahead it bowled over the would-be robber, but that he was
not seriously hurt the boys judged by the volley of bad language he sent
after them. As for the others, as the car made its leap they had stepped
nimbly aside.
“Look out for the excavation. Frank; we’ll be in it!” shouted Billy in
an alarmed voice as the car rushed forward.
“Why, there’s no excavation, Billy,” rejoined Frank, bending over the
steering wheel. “That was just a bluff on the part of those men, of
whom, if I am not much mistaken, Fred Reade was one.”